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Octa stared at the mad dog before him, his expression trembling with fear.
This was Caron Leston. The young man who had so suddenly barged into the president's office was now helping himself to Octa's prized liquor collection, bottles that had been carefully displayed in a cabinet.
And yet, Octa couldn't utter a single word of protest. One wrong move, and he had the terrible feeling he would be bitten by this mad dog.
This was a lunatic who had stormed in during broad daylight and openly threatened his family. And the fact that the youngest grandson of a great ducal house was acting this way was something Octa could hardly comprehend.
"Is it because you're a noble?" Caron wondered, examining a bottle with an appreciative look. "You do have good taste in alcohol. I like it."
Perhaps it was guilt that gnawed at him. Octa could only gulp down his rising fear as he watched Caron shamelessly loot his collection.
After all, the Imperial Times had recently been leading the charge in spreading conspiracy theories that the Ducal Family of Leston was plotting rebellion. Even with the support of Marquis Diaz and the royal family behind them, nothing was more terrifying than immediate violence.
Thus, Octa could do nothing but lower his gaze and watch Caron cautiously.
"I have to say," Caron went on, twirling the bottle in his hand, "I was truly impressed reading the Imperial Times. What was that headline again? 'Does the Ducal Family of Leston Dream of Fifty Years Ago?' Hah! Your editor has real talent. Could've...
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